


Beautiful Disaster

by keahukahuanui



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Dark!Derek, Hurt Derek, M/M, Muder, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keahukahuanui/pseuds/keahukahuanui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek can't stand Stiles being with anyone else.  Also Derek has a fixation with beautiful things and knives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Disaster

Derek sat in a metal chair in the corner of a dimly lit room, cleaning his knife. It was covered in blood, and blood rusts. Rusted knives aren’t pretty, and Derek had to keep his knife beautiful. His knife was his most precious claim now, he had nothing, and he had no one. He couldn’t let his love for his knife spoil like his love for Stiles had. His love for Stiles had run bad and Stiles had left him. He had left Derek for Scott. Scott who now lay under the heat of a bright lamp in the center of this very room. Scott who was now dead in the center of this very room. Scott whose blood was now all over the hard concrete floor, _in the center of this very room_. It had been a quick death for Scott. Scott was no one, Scott meant nothing. Scott didn’t deserve to feel the sting of Derek’s knife any longer than he had to. No, Derek’s knife was a gift. To feel the bite of something so beautiful… Scott was not worthy. Unworthiness aside, Derek had enjoyed every last second of ending Scott’s life. Scott took from Derek, and so Derek returned the favor.

Stiles, however, was a different story. Stiles had taken Derek’s heart in the palms of his hands and crushed it. Stiles said Derek was crazy, that he was sick.  
Derek chuckled in his corner, soft and sharp, cleaning the blood off of his knife.  


Stiles was unconscious, a few feet away from Scott, who lay dead in the center of this very room. Stiles was unconscious, lying on the floor, fingers dipping in Scott’s blood.  


Derek jumped up and hurriedly dragged Stiles a few more feet away. Stiles would have no one’s blood but his own. His own and Derek’s.  


Derek deposited Stiles body and went back to his chair, cleaning his knife, humming a song his mother used to sing him every night before bed.  


Derek waited for what seemed like hours, when Stiles finally began to stir.  


~*~*~*~*~  


His temple was throbbing, his vision was blurry. The ground was hard and cold. He must have taken a heavy blow, he might be suffering from a concussion. He groaned and tried to sit up, instantly regretting his decision as vertigo hit him and threw him straight back down from whence he came.  


He took a moment with his face pressed into his arm, trying to wake up.  


_What happened? Where am I?_  


Once the vertigo had passed, he looked up and around. He saw a dark and empty room with nothing inside. Could be an abandoned warehouse.  


Slowly he got up to his knees so that he could get a better view. He turned around and that’s when he saw the blood on the ground in front of him. He saw the blood and he saw Scott. He saw his best friend, his lover. He saw his life.  


His eyes widened in panic, his heart rate skyrocketed instantaneously. He began to hyperventilate and sweat, his hands shaking.  


“Scott?” Stiles tried to call out his name but his voice would not come. Tears welled up in his eyes as he refused to believe that Scott was gone, that he would never taste those soft lips again.  


Stiles crawled through the blood, over to Scott. When he got there he sheltered Scott’s body with his own, breaking into a full on sob, and that’s when he heard the screech of metal, like a chair being slid across the concrete.  


~*~*~*~*~  


Derek filled with rage as he watched Stiles grieve and soak in Scott’s blood. How dare anyone else cause Stiles to feel so much? Stiles should only feel Derek, and Stiles will only feel Derek.  


Derek pushed the chair back across the concrete, turned the light back up to full, knife in hand, standing, and Stiles finally noticed him.  


The boy’s eyes were red. Red like the color Derek so desperately wanted to spill from Stiles. But Derek knew that time would come, and soon, so he needed to stay calm. He would get his revenge, he was getting his revenge, he already _has_ had some of his revenge, and it would be oh so sweet. Stiles would understand the suffering he caused Derek, Stiles would _get it._  


And then Stiles would lose it all, just like Derek had.  


Derek flashed a smile at Stiles, “It’s funny, isn’t it. We always seem to lose the ones who matter most to us.” Stiles meant the most to Derek, and he would make Stiles understand. Derek swallowed before continuing. “He had it coming, ever since the moment you decided he was better than me.”  


Derek twirled his knife between his fingers, looking down to watch the beautiful metal glide over and through his fingertips. It shone bright in the light and Derek gave a devilish grin when he saw his own reflection in the blade.  


_A beautiful knife for a beautiful me._  


Derek lifted his eyes back to Stiles who was staring in horror. Moving his eyes between Stiles’ and the beauty in his hand, Derek laughed. “It’s really gorgeous, isn’t it,” he asked, voice too happy for the occasion.  


“Derek,” Stiles croaked.  


“Oh now you know my name. Now you know who I am. After _ditching_ me, leaving me cold and alone, forgetting my entire existence. _Now_ you know my name, when you’re sitting there next to _him_. It’s ironic, if you think about it. He’s the one who made you forget me, and now he’s the one who’s made you remember.”  


Derek started to creep forward, making no sound at all. Next he spoke, it was the faintest whisper, probably too quiet for Stiles to make out. “I eat food to satisfy my hunger, I drink water to quench my thirst.” As he was walking, he was playing with his knife. Tossing it and catching it, doing dangerously fancy things such as tossing it over his head and catching it behind his back. Not once did he falter, every time gripping the handle as it fell. “I use my mouth and air to blow balloon up, I prick with pin to watch it burst.” He accented the last line by holding the tip of the knife up with his index finger.  


As Derek made his way across the floor, Stiles scooted away, as is natural.  


“Darling, don’t run,” Derek said, louder, in a soothing voice.  


“ _Please_ ,” whimpered Stiles. “Derek, please, let me-”  


“See, _there_ it is again!” Derek interrupted, throwing his arms wide. “I gave you everything, Stiles. You took everything from me and gave it to him,” he gestured at Scott’s corpse with his knife hand. “And it’s funny, now that I think about it. I was so numb, you made me feel as if you were the only thing in this world. I thought we were happy. I almost didn’t see it come, but I could just feel it in my bones. I could just feel something was wrong. You kept spending more and more time with him, you kept spending less and less and less and less and _less_ time with me,” Derek finished, growling, stopping beside the body.  


Derek looked down at Scott’s lifeless face, his eyes still wide with horror. “I mean, I guess I can understand why. His crooked jaw has some sort of appeal if you squint. But he would be much more attractive if only it were _straight_.” With the last word he brought his foot down, square on Scott’s chin.  


Somewhere in front of him he heard Stiles’ voice break, his shrill scream echoing in the empty room. Derek watched as the pool around Scott’s body darkened ever more, turning from a bright red crimson to a much darker shade of maroon.  


“Hmm.” Derek shrugged, turning his attention back to Stiles.  


Now Derek was half running across the room, toward the boy who was still moving away.  


Stiles tried to get up and flee, but Derek was too fast, and there was nowhere to hide. Derek caught up with Stiles and pushed him down to the ground, face first, shouting, “No, Stiles, don’t leave me again. I don’t know if I could handle you leaving me again!”  


He reached down and grabbed the back of Stiles’ shirt, dragging him the few remaining feet to the wall before turning him and throwing him up against it. Standing inches from his face, Derek stared as Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and tried to turn his head away.  


“Look at me, Stiles,” Derek whispered.  


Stiles whimpered, shaking his head, squeezing his eyes even tighter.  


Derek sighed, frustration building up inside of him. He pushed the arm that held his knife against Stiles’ chest, forcefully grabbing Stiles’ face with his other hand. He directed Stiles’ face to his own and screamed, spittle flying, “ _Look at me_.”  


Stiles’ eyes flew open wide. So wide and clear, so beautiful. Derek could see his reflection in Stiles’ eyes. This much beautiful is too much for someone else, it should be Derek’s. It was Derek’s, it should _still_ be Derek’s.  


He released Stiles’ face and the pressure from his chest, stepping back a few inches.  


“Good, there. Look at me. This is what you lost,” laughed Derek. “No, this is what you _threw away_. For that!” Derek gestured over his shoulder. “You must be stupid to want him over _this_.”  


Stiles’ bottom lip was quivering and there were waterfalls of tears streaming down his face. Derek almost felt bad for him.  


Derek crossed his arms, resting the side of his face on the fist gripping his knife. He gazed at the tears on Stiles’ face, licking his lips. Moving closer, he swiped his thumb across Stiles’ cheek, Stiles flinching away when the knife came close. Staring straight into Stiles’ eyes, he sucked his finger into his mouth, tasting the salty sweetness. It was delicious. It tasted beautiful. He wanted Stiles to cry more of that beautiful substance into this world.  


“Ohhhh fuck, I forgot how sweet you tasted. Did you forget how I tasted Stiles?”  


Stiles gulped, shaking his head.  


“See,” Derek started, “I don’t think you know what I mean.” He looked down at his hands and the knife. “You have caused me so much pain, Stiles. So, so, so much pain, and I want you to know what that tastes like, Stiles. I want you to taste my pain, I want you to have my pain.” Lifting his free hand up, he splayed his fingers wide, opening his palm to Stiles. With his other hand, he dug the knife into his own flesh and dragged it across, his own blood seeping out. “I want you to taste my pain, Stiles,” he said as he shoved his wounded hand against Stiles’ mouth.  


Stiles fought, struggled to get out of Derek’s grip, but Derek was too strong. Derek lifted Stiles up against the wall with only that single hand, and he felt Stiles’ muffled scream under his hand as he did so.  


“Does it hurt Stiles? Do you feel my pain? Can you taste it?”  


Derek dropped Stiles back to the ground, where he collapsed, trying to spit out as much of the blood as possible.  


Derek flipped Stiles over onto his back, straddling his chest. He pointed the point of the knife at Stiles’ face, smiling.  


“You look beautiful,” he murmured.  


Stiles gulped, and Derek could feel the boy’s heart racing beneath him.  


“Oh,” Derek said, sounding surprised. “You thought I meant you! Oh no, no, no, silly. I was talking to my knife!”  


In one motion, Derek swiped the knife across Stiles’ face, leaving two cuts, one on either cheek bone.  


“Oh wow. You are beautiful too, Stiles, you really are. Beautiful things and beautiful people should stick together. Why did you leave me Stiles, why?”  


Derek trailed the knife down Stiles’ face, point pressing in to his chin, where blood came rushing out. Leaning down, Derek licked up the stream of blood that was running down Stiles’ exposed neck.  


“Mmmm,” he moaned. “You taste just as beautiful on the inside, as on the outside, which I already knew of course,” he finished with a sly wink.  


Derek sighed, growing bored.  


“Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. You really fucked up when you decided you didn’t want me anymore. That sealed your fate. His too, I guess, but I don’t really care about him,” Derek shrugged.  


He dragged the knife from the top of Stiles’ forehead, all the way down to the tip of his nose. Blood starting to flowing profusely, blinding Stiles, and Derek laughed a manic, crazed laugh.  


“It’s okay, though, I still love you,” Derek exclaimed, “and you will forever be my beautiful.”  


Standing up, Derek removed himself from Stiles’ body. Lying down next to him, Derek pulled Stiles close, almost cuddling him as he bled out on the concrete.  


“We will be together again in a few, my sweet,” he promised, swiping his own beautiful knife across first Stiles’, and then his own, beautiful throat.


End file.
